Beautiful Disaster
by accioamber
Summary: Songfic to the beautiful disaster by jon mclaughlin. why is cameron so damaged? AU. I'm going like songfic crazy lately : r&r please!


Disclaimer: I don't own anything from House, M.D. or the song "Beautiful Disaster" by Jon McLaughlin. I also kind of got the wine-photo album scenario from the episode "Spin" from season two.

A/N: Songfic to "Beautiful Disaster" by Jon McLaughlin. I'm trying to figure out what song to play for my Psych class tomorrow, and this kind of popped into my head. It's my take on why Cameron might be so "damaged". AU, mostly from her childhood. R&R, please! Thanks for reading.

Househousehouse

Allison Cameron cracked open a bottle of red wine when she got home from work one night. It was a cold, snowy evening in late January. It was much like it had been that night over 20 years ago.

By the time the wine had been poured into a deep glass, and she'd dragged out the old photo album and thrown a blanket over her legs, she was already crying. It wasn't the neat kind of crying that she usually did, either. The one where the tears flowed silently and she didn't sniffle. No, she let it all out. Tears were streaming down her cheeks, and she was being very loud. Her makeup had smeared, and her nose was running. She hated crying like this, but she knew this was one of the only times, only days in a year that she cried like this.

She opened the photo album and let the memories that she hid so carefully in the back of her brain during the rest of the year come out.

_She loves her mama's lemonade,  
Hates the sounds that goodbyes make.  
She prays one day she'll find someone to need her.  
She swears that there's no difference,  
Between the lies and complements.  
It's all the same if everybody leaves her._

She is six and a half years old. Her daddy's getting ready for another visit to her grandma in Washington, who's very sick. She's bouncing up and down on the bed. Her mother's in the kitchen with her older brother Jack, making her famous oatmeal cookies and a batch of lemonade, just the way little Allie likes it.

Daddy grabs Allie and swings her around in the air before plunking her back down on the bed and tickling her. Yelling over Allie's laughter, he says, "OK, little jumping bean, Daddy's gotta leave!"

She backs away and stands on the bed, putting her hands on her little hips. "Daddy, can't I please go with you?"

John Cameron sighs and says, "Allie, you know I can't bring you with me. You've got school, and besides, who would I leave your mother and Jack with?" He leans down and whispers, "You know that I don't trust anyone else to keep them in line."

She smiles and says, "When are you coming back, Daddy?"

He grins and gives her one last tickle. He grabs his bags and heads toward the front door with Allie at his heels. "Soon, sweetie. I promise, soon." He chucks her under the chin. The taxi honks from the driveway to take John to the airport. "Goodbye, Allie."

"Goodbye, Daddy." He gets in the taxi and drives away. She stands on the porch waving until she can't see it anymore.

Later that night, over a big pot of spaghetti, the phone rings. Jack and Allie ignore it while their mother answers it. Susan Cameron comes back to the table with a haunting look on her face.

"I'm sorry, kids." Allie watches her mom.

"What's going on, Mommy? Is that Daddy, can I talk to him?"

"Oh, darling." Susan whispers. "I'm so sorry. Your daddy's plane…crashed this afternoon. He's…" Here Susan started to cry. "He's never coming home."

Allie's still-baby face wrinkles up and she starts crying uncontrollable, not unlike the way she is now, 23 years later.

Cameron came back from the pages of her photo album long enough to take a long sip of wine and blow her nose. She'd been staring at the same three pictures for twenty minutes. The first one was of her beloved daddy teaching her how to walk. The second was him rescuing her from a tree she'd climbed and tried to jump out of on her fourth birthday. The last was taken the day he died. She was perched in the crook of his arm, grinning in the way that only six year olds can, a big gap in between her teeth. Her father was smiling, too. He looked truly happy.

Cameron turned a few pages, fast-forwarding her life to when she was 15, almost 16.

_And every magazine tells her she's not good enough,  
The pictures that she sees make her cry._

And she would change everything, everything just ask her.  
Caught in the in between of beautiful disaster,  
And she needs someone to take her home

Allie turned page after page in the latest edition of Vogue, staring at those girls, so beautiful, and then staring at her own self in her full length mirror on the back of her door. 18 year old Jack revved his motorcycle outside, his signal to her that he was leaving. She stood up and waved out the window, letting him know that she understood.

She stared into the mirror deeper, hating herself more and more. She started to cry. She would do anything in the world to change her life. Her mother had been impossible since Daddy died. All her mom did was work, until she came home at 9 at night, drained three martinis and go to bed. The extent of her mothering for the past 5 or 6 years had been ducking her head in to say good night.

Jack was leaving for college the next fall, and then Allie would be all alone. All alone, as the ugly duckling that she was.

Cameron came back from that portion of her childhood, but did she ever remember it. She'd pretty much hated herself.

She flipped a few pages and found herself staring into her senior pictures. She was really different now, from then. Her hair was longer and darker. Her face was a different shape. But you could tell that there were other things that were different. She was happier now. You could see the anger, frustration and sadness on her face.

_She's giving boys what they want, tries to act so nonchalant,  
Afraid they'll see that she's lost her direction.  
She never stays the same for long,  
Assuming that she'll get it wrong.  
Perfect only in her imperfection._

Her boyfriend back then had been a guy named Alexander Thomason. He was a very forceful guy that wanted what he wanted. And he wanted Allison Cameron. She was smart, beautiful, funny and kind. He was the kind of girl he wanted.

He approached her and said, "How about we go out to dinner this weekend?"

She nodded softly and let her hair fall in her face a bit. Somehow guys seemed to fall for that.

Later that night, he started making out with her. She didn't even really like him, but he was just pushing and pushing, so she gave in. They made out for about an hour, on their first date. Things just kind of escalated from there.

Cameron thought back to the night she'd finally dumped Alex. He had been pushing her to have sex with him for about three weeks. She told him it was over, and he'd literally gotten down on bended knee and tried to get her to stay. When that didn't work, he chased after her in the parking lot, yelling curse words. Then he grabbed her wrist and pulled her closer to him, and slapped her across the face.

She burst into fresh tears at _that_ memory. Her cheek had been black and blue for a week at the football players rough slap.

_She's not a drama queen,  
She doesn't want to feel this way, only seventeen but tired_

_Chorus _

_Cuz she's just the way she is, but no ones told her that's ok._

_Chorus x3_

Cameron flipped through the rest of the book. After high school and she'd entered college, things had kind of evened out. College provided a chance for her to get away from her crazy mom, and the environment that she'd sort of…outgrown when she was six and her dad died. She made new friends, and once she hit medical school, she found someone who really loved her.

She'd loved her husband, and he'd loved her. He was dying of thyroid cancer, but she'd married him anyways, even though she knew she would just get hurt. She found a picture of him hugging her, and her head was nestled under his chin. She realized that after that, there were no pictures of her. The album was empty.

She got out her digital camera and let her face relax. She let it go into whatever way it was going to go, and she snapped a picture. When she hit "review", she saw that she was smiling a small smile. One that showed she was happy.

She hooked her camera up to the computer and pressed print. Then she pasted it into the book.

She was who she was. And that was ok.

THE END.

HOUSEHOUSEHOUSE

A/N: What do you think? Not my best, but it'll do. R&R!


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